


Drowning In Flames

by Roxirin



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Heavy Angst, M/M, a (sort of) death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roxirin/pseuds/Roxirin
Summary: When P.T Barnum announces he wants to try the water cell trick, Phillip Carlyle decides that it's a VERY bad idea. He's not often wrong about these things.





	Drowning In Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy, angsty, all the good stuff. Probably don't read this if you're sad. Still, enjoy c: :innocent_emoji:

When Barnum announced that he wanted to perform the water cell trick, Carlyle nearly lost it in front of half the troupe.  
  
"Are you _crazy?!"_ He'd exclaimed, taking off his hat and running one hand through his hair in exasperation. He knew what Barnum was about to say and raised a finger, cutting him off before he replied. "Absolutely not, Barnum. No. People have _died._ "  
"Yes, and people have died by riding horses or using heavy machinery, but either of those things done the _correct_ way have resulted in no deaths at all, at least not that I'm aware of. It'll be fine, Phil." The ringmaster waved Phillip off as easily as he might dismiss an errant protestor and he was taken aback momentarily as Barnum strode past him, talking to W.D and asking where he could source a glass container from. Phillip rushed after them. "Hey! Listen, Phin, you _can't."_  
  
Barnum turned his head at his first name being used, and stopped walking. W.D paused, too, but saw Anne struggling with a knotted trapeze rope across the ring and jogged over to help, calling "Back in a sec!" as he went. Phillip put a hand on Phineas's shoulder. "Please. Think about this." His eyes were dark with worry. To his horror, Phin smiled fondly, and took the hand resting on his shoulder, kissing Carlyle's knuckles as a gentleman might after making a lady's acquaintance. "Phillip, I fully understand your concern, but really, it'll be fine. The trick will be performed with full safety measures intact. Besides, it's not like you're ACTUALLY locked in there or properly restrained, it's all just an illusion. There's a certain knot you tie, things like that." He explained, and it did absolutely nothing to make Phillip feel any better. Just the thought of 'what if something went wrong?' made him sick to his core and a string of _'what if's_ followed, a chilling fear sweeping through his body.  
  
He couldn't stop Phineas, that was for sure. Once the man had his mind set on something only something as devastating as a building fire could stop him, and even then, not for long. The sick feeling in Phillip's gut turned into a sharp stab, the thought of the fire twisting the knife of fear further into him.  
  
"At least let me be your assistant, then." He pleaded, and Barnum looked a little surprised. "Another man isn't the most _conventional_ choice for a glamorous assistant, but alright, if you're that worried about it." He agreed, and Phillip was both put out and relieved (at least a little) all at once. Hmmph. He could be glamorous if he so wished.  
  
Four days later, the box arrived. It was immense, steel-framed thing, fitted with thick glass panels. The top had a special sort of lock that could be easily undone from the inside, whilst looking very much locked on the outside, preserving the illusion that the person inside was well and truly trapped. As an object, it carried with it a heavy sense of dread and finality, and Phillip decided he hated it more than he hated dinner parties, which said a lot.  
  
"Marvelous!" Barnum had exclaimed after pulling off the sheet covering it with a flourish. Phillip did not think it was marvelous.  
  
Barnum practiced the trick, of course, and being as nervous about it as he was, Phillip had scoured the local libraries and book stores thoroughly for books on the topic. He and Phineas spent hours going over the correct knots, the correct techniques, the correct everything, until Phin said he was quite sure he'd remember the process until the day he died at this rate. Carlyle wasn't convinced, and made him do it three more times before they even started to practice with water in the tank. Phil insisted on having the lid open the first five attempts, and stood so close by the tank on the sixth that he could see the tiny bubbles of air that escaped from Barnum's nose as he easily slipped the knot binding his wrists, undid the lock, and pushed the top of the tank open, leaning on the edge and grinning proudly.  
  
Phillip realized he'd been holding his breath longer than Phineas had and exhaled. Phin flicked water at him in an attempt to get him to laugh, to de-stress a little. "See, Carlyle? Perfectly safe. You're really worrying about this far too much. And just think of the crowds!" He made a gesture with both hands as if putting up a poster. _"Barnum's Incredible Locked Water Cell!"_ He imitated the sound of a crowd cheering afterwards, and despite himself, Phillip smiled fondly and leant up to capture the other's lips in a brief, rather damp kiss, pushing wet strands of hair away from Phin's forehead.  
  
There were no such smiles on the day of the first performance. Phillip was a nervous wreck, and Lettie had to actually slap him to get him to stop fretting. _"Ow?"_ Phillip exclaimed, frowning in disbelief at her and rubbing his cheek. "Oh, man up and calm down, Carlyle! He's practiced this literally hundreds of times now. It'll be fine." She consoled, dusting him off and tugging at his shirt collar. "Now, go get em. Be the best glamorous assistant this side of Anne Wheeler, okay?" He nodded, partially comforted by her words. It would be fine. It would be fine.  
  
The audience's cheers fell to a hushed whisper as Barnum strode into the ring, accompanied by Constantine and W.D, who were pulling the tank behind them on a wheeled platform. "Ladies and Gents, this is the moment you've been waiting for!"  
  
The rest of Barnum's introductory speech was lost to Phillip, who was going over the trick in his head, over and over, memorizing the knot, the lock, the amount of time it usually took Phin to escape. He had a pocket watch on him, which he'd start as soon Phin's head was submerged, and if it went over two minutes, he was allowed to intervene. Phin's closest call so far had been one minute and forty-one seconds, but that was only because the knot had been a little harder to undo than anticipated.  
  
Phillip's train of thought was broken as Anne tapped him insistently on the shoulder, pointing towards the ring. "You're on!" He blinked, realizing he'd missed his cue, and quickly stepped out into the spotlights, walking purposefully to stand beside the tank to a small round of applause. He bowed deeply, making a wide gesture to the tank beside him, and then climbed up onto the platform to undo the lid, opening it fully and sticking his hand in to demonstrate that the water level went above the steel rim around the top. There had already been a low, collective 'ooooh' from the crowd, which was now dead silent as Barnum pulled off his hat and jacket, and handed them plus his cane to Phillip, who put them down at the side of the ring.  
  
"And now, _prepare to be amazed..."_ Barnum's voice had everyone on tenterhooks. Any other day, Phillip would have quietly admired how he could hold the complete attention of a thousand people with such ease.  
  
Carlyle's hands weren't quite visibly shaking as he produced the ropes seemingly out of thin air, a simple sleight-of-hand trick which made a few people in the audience gasp in anticipation.  
  
The silence was deafening. He tied the knot securely around Barnum's wrists and held the stepladder steady as the ringmaster jumped into the tank, holding himself up on the rim of it with his chin as the audience looked on in mixed awe and anxiety. "Phillip, start the timer!"  
  
Barnum took a deep breath and went under. Phillip started the timer, flipped the lid of the tank over, and clicked the lock shut.

  
Two minutes.  
  
It had to have been the longest two minutes of his life. The whole tent was dead quiet and Phillip was quite sure there were people in the audience also holding their breath (or forgetting to breathe). He was forcing breaths himself.  
  
One minute thirty.  
  
Barnum was halfway out of the knot, having managed to get his arms over his head to his front. He was putting on a bit of a struggle for the crowd and Phillip _hated_ him for it.  
  
One minute. Barnum slipped the knot and swam for the top of the tank, reaching for the lock mechanism hidden by the steel rim. It didn't require a key, but he had one for show anyway, and let it 'accidentally' slip from his hands and sink to the bottom. There were assembled gasps and a few pointing fingers, and Barnum turned and dived, fumbling to pick it up.  
  
Thirty seconds. Phillip wanted to scream, his heart pounding even as Barnum's fingers closed around the shining object and he kicked back to the top, briefly grappling with the lock.  
  
Twenty seconds.  
  
There was a click and the lock on the outside of the tank popped open as if by magic. Barnum pushed the lid open, and the deep gasp of air he took was echoed by the simultaneous exhale from near everyone else in the room, quickly drowned out a deafening cheer.  
  
Phillip felt like he was going to be sick, but smiled for show and helped Barnum back down from the tank, dripping wet and looking thoroughly pleased with himself as he strode out to the middle of the ring to take his bows. He turned and gestured towards Carlyle, beaming at him, and the younger man bowed deeply himself, watching as Constantine and W.D came back on to pull the tank offstage while Barnum announced the next act. The two ringmasters returned backstage together, and the first thing Phillip did was to pull him down and kiss him angrily, ever upset with him for thinking this trick was a good idea and so relieved that it had gone smoothly. Phineas was surprised and didn't even have time to close his eyes before Phillip had pulled back, shaking water from his hands. "Now go and dry off." He stated in a snippy tone, and rushed away.  
  
The tension had proved to be too much for the man and he barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up, spitting into the toilet sourly. He couldn't keep doing this.  
  
Phillip kept doing it, of course. The success of the act was boundless and P.T loved performing it, so naturally, the show went on. Phillip insisted on being there every single time, even if he had other responsibilities. Phineas had suggested several times that someone else take over for him on the shows where the water tank came directly before a song Phil danced in, on account of how shaken he tended to be afterwards, but he refused stubbornly. His appetite hadn't been the same since the performances started and he'd actually lost more weight than he cared to admit. Charity had had to make adjustments to his uniform and although she'd looked at him questioningly after stating that she hadn't thought he'd needed to lose any weight at all, he'd passed no comment on the matter.  
  
It was the matinee performance on Saturday, and Phillip stood ready by the ringside, stopwatch in hand. He looked _awful,_ frankly. Every could see now the stress that etched into his features, the slight gauntness of his cheeks, the way he fidgeted restlessly all morning until the dreaded act was over. Anne walked up to him and gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Hey, Phil. You okay?" She asked gently, and it took nearly all his remaining willpower to muster a nod and a half-smile.  
  
His smile was overshadowed by Phineas's wide grin as he walked over, ready for his favorite act. He noticed Phillip's tired gaze and pale complexion, and took his head in both hands with no protest from the other man, looking into his eyes and tilting his head from side to side to assess him properly. "Phillip, are you ill?" His grin was gone, replaced by a concerned frown. Phillip pulled his head away. "N-no, it's fine, really, I'm just-"  
  
"You simply _can't_ perform like this. Go home, eat something, rest up. Anne can take your place. I'll see you later, alright?" He pressed an affectionate kiss to Phil's forehead and pried the stopwatch and the rope from his grasp. "You know the knot, don't you, Anne?"  
  
She smiled and nodded, but Phillip noticed the smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and panic surged in his chest. "Phin, I'm fine. Let me perform with you."  
  
Phineas turned to him and shook his head. "Look, Phil, I'm sorry, but you're _really_ not fit for the ring as you are. Stop fighting it. Do yourself a favor and go lie down." He said sternly, and Phillip was powerless to resist any longer. He gave Barnum a very meaningful look before the other strode out into the ring,  and then turned to Anne. "Two minutes exactly, alright? Even if it's still got twenty seconds, if he looks like he's really struggling, get him out of there, it's-"  
  
"Anne, you're on." W.D got his sister's attention and pointed her towards the ring, and she flashed a reassuring smile at Phillip before walking on to a chorus of applause and wolf whistles.  
  
Phillip went to sit down nearby, feeling like he was about to pass out any second. It didn't help that he'd barely eaten this morning. The minutes ticked by, the only thing keeping him grounded being the sound of P.T's voice as it carried loud and clear throughout the tent. The splash as Barnum hit the water made him sit up a little, and the heavy _thunk_ of the lid closing made him close his eyes, fighting off the urge to be sick again.  
  
Half a minute ticked by. He'd grown used to the silence that accompanied this part of the act, and the dread in the pit of his stomach threatened to grow, but didn't.    
  
A minute. There were a couple of gasps from the audience and Phillip didn't want to look to see the part where Barnum made a show of dropping the key.  
  
About twenty seconds passed, and a low , uneasy murmur broke out all around the ring. Phillip opened his eyes. That was unusual. Another ten seconds passed and he was there on the ringside, panic consuming him and adrenaline pumping through his veins, his blood running ice cold at the sight before him.  
  
Barnum wasn't even out of the knot yet. The struggling wasn't for display any more and Phillip watched Anne with agitation as she held the stopwatch up and clicked it off.  
  
Two minutes.  
  
The murmuring grew louder as Barnum finally wrenched his arms free of the knot binding his wrists and immediately kicked off from the bottom of the tank. Anne looked tense, ready to spring to his aid at a moment's notice, but it was almost over now and she knew he'd be irritated if she ruined the final part of the act. He'd done this plenty of times before anyway, he could hold his breath for longer than two minutes. How much longer remained to be seen.  
  
Phillip's world became blurred for a second and he put one arm out to steady himself on a tent pole, breathing shallowly and sharply, unable to take his eyes away.  
  
The lock hadn't clicked open and at least another fifteen seconds had gone by. Anne couldn't contain herself any longer and stepped quickly up to the tank, reaching for the lock.  
  
Phillip's breath of relief at Anne's assistance caught in his throat as her expression dropped into a frown, and then a decidedly more panicked frown.  
  
_The lock was stuck._  
  
Phillip couldn't stand and watch a moment longer. He sprinted onto the ring, jumping up onto the platform and pushing Annie aside as he went to deal with the lock himself. She gave him a panicked glance, but it wasn't her Phillip was looking at.

  
It was Barnum.  
  
He'd been in there far too long now and was looking _terrified_ , bubbles escaping from his lips and nose as he remained suspended there in the water, hands on the glass. Another few seconds passed, in which Phillip swore under his breath and the lock remained firmly shut. Phineas started to pound his fists on the glass, signalling his dire need for air. The audience was agitated now, people talking loudly among themselves and a few of the press snapping photos as the chaos unfolded. Mothers shielded their children's eyes. Many people sat with their hands over their mouths in horror.  
  
Barnum screamed his panic and the muffled, underwater sound cut through Phillip like the sharpest of knives. Of course, to scream was the worst thing he could have done, but people often don't think straight while drowning.  
  
Phillip leapt off the platform again and ran backstage faster than Anne thought she'd ever seen him run in his life. He returned seconds later with the sledgehammer they used for knocking in the largest tent pegs.  
  
Phineas's struggles were getting weaker, and when Philip returned he moved to the side of the tank the younger ringmaster was on. They locked gazes and for a moment, time came to a terrible halt. Phil had only seen fear like that in Barnum's eyes one time before.  
  
His memory flashed back to the fire. He could almost feel his lungs filling with smoke, and the pressure of the debris that had fallen on him, trapping him where he lay, desperately struggling for breath as the world burned and crumbled around him. And then Phineas was there, dragging him out, with the most intense terror in his eyes as he did so. Phillip came back to the present with a start and stepped back, hefting the sledgehammer in both hands and swinging it in a wide arc, listening to the sickening _crunch_ as metal met glass. A large, spidery crack had appeared, but Barnum was too weak to kick at it. His limbs spasmed occasionally, his body still fighting, but he was largely still, floating serenely in that tank of death. Phillip swung the sledgehammer for a second time and dived out of the way as the entire right panel of the tank cracked and finally shattered, a torrent of water cascading onto the floor of the ring. Many other members of the troupe had come out from behind backstage now, looking on with serious concern at the wet body lying limp amongst shards of glass. Anne ran off to call the Bellevue hospital for an ambulance.  
  
Phillip was there in an instant. He pulled P.T onto his back. The other man gave no signs of consciousness. Phillip gripped his chin and turned his head to one side, watching water drain from his nostrils, the ringing in his ears silencing the panicked chatter of the crowds.  
  
He'd never thought there would be a day their lips would meet and he wouldn't feel warm and loved and whole, but the chill which surged through him as he bent to place his mouth to Phin's offered no such pleasant feelings. He exhaled hard, watching Phin's chest rise from the corner of his eye before releasing him. _Nothing._ He exhaled into Phineas's lungs five more times before the other suddenly retched, reanimating with a start and heaving himself onto one side, coughing and throwing up what must have been at least one and a half lungfuls of water. Phillip drew back only slightly, giving Phin enough room to continue coughing violently, his whole body trembling.  
  
"You're _alive-"_ Phillip whispered, and then he was there, holding Phin in his arms, the other looking a little out of it, closing his eyes and frowning deeply, weakly returning the damp hug as tears streamed down Phillip's face. _"Oh my god, you're alive."_  
  
Barnum spent three days in hospital. Phillip wanted to visit him so badly, but he was under _very_ strict orders from Lettie (and half the troupe, for that matter) to go home and take care of himself. To be truthful, he needed it. He forced himself to eat properly for the first time in weeks. He slept a lot. He was asleep when Phineas came back home, Anne accompanying him to make sure he made it alright. Her hugged her goodbye at the door and thanked her for her assistance during the crisis. They both cried, at least a little.  
  
And then Phineas found himself alone in a dark house, although he wasn't alone, not really. He immediately headed upstairs, opening the door to the master bedroom quietly and finding Phillip there, huddled under the covers, dead to the world aside from the soft rise and fall of the covers giving him away. P.T smiled fondly, and went to step forwards, then faltered, eyes suddenly dark with guilt.  
  
_He'd_ done this. Phillip had been reduced to _this_ : this worried shadow of a man, ghastly pale skin stretched over a frame of bone, all over stressing about _his_ safety. And Phil had been right, as he often was. Phineas had, in fact, been dead for all of ten seconds, before Phillip gave him the air his lungs didn't have space for alongside the water.  
  
But he was alive, and Phillip was alive, and really, that was all that mattered.  
  
Phineas's weight shifting the mattress made Phillip stir in his sleep. He wasn't fully awake until he was joined under the covers and warm lips full of life were pressing softly against his, a hair gently stroking his hair. He inhaled audibly and opened his eyes, and the sight of Phin's face - Phin's gorgeous, warm, perfect, _alive_ face - made him choke back a sob, and he fell apart in the older man's arms, hugging him so tight that the space between them stopped existing for a full five minutes while he cried, and Phin cried, and neither of them needed to ask why the other was doing so.  
  
Eventually, muffled sniffs and tear-stained kisses lapsed into silence, and the two lay there for a while, warming each other. After what seemed like an eternity, Phillip spoke.  
  
"Let me be the assistant from now on. Please." His voice cracked and Phineas drew back from where he'd been comfortably nestled between Phil's neck and shoulder to look at the younger man with the most serious expression Phil had ever seen him make.  
  
"I'm never performing that act again. From now on, I'm not going to risk my life for the show, safety restraints or not. Look what I've done to you." The guilt was back in his eyes again and Phillip leaned forwards to kiss him softly. _"I love you, Phineas Barnum."_  
The words were spoken so softly that anyone not lying mere inches from his lips would have missed them.  
  
_"I love you, too, Phillip Carlyle. And I'm never letting go of you again."_

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to the ending, because I couldn't bring myself to add it to the actual story:
> 
> The comfortable silence between them continued for a good while, until Phillip shifted slightly.
> 
> "I'm afraid you're going to have to let go of me."
> 
> No response.
> 
> "Phin, I've gotta pee."


End file.
